


Unwrapped

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Breaking and Entering, Established Relationship, Fuckbuddies, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sleep Groping, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22450384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Izaya considers his surroundings, just to orient himself in the space in the likely event he needs to make a hasty retreat, and then he gets to his feet and pads silently forward to consider the futon and the man asleep within it." Izaya gives Shizuo a birthday present and Shizuo opens it more thoroughly than expected.
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya
Comments: 43
Kudos: 289





	Unwrapped

It’s not difficult to get inside Shizuo’s apartment.

Izaya is sure Shizuo imagines himself secure for the night. He lives on the second floor of a modest apartment complex some distance from the busier downtown streets with higher buildings and higher rents to go with them; both Shizuo and Izaya are at the top floor of their respective homes, but where Izaya gains a skyscraping view down on the city below Shizuo gains the height to see the adjacent street, and perhaps to catch a glimpse down at the porch of the house immediately alongside his own complex. Izaya amuses himself for a few minutes with the symbolism of this, and the comfort he finds in his own obvious superiority in the result; and then he gives up his idle consideration of Shizuo’s locked front door, and turns his attention to a more willing means of entrance.

The door  _ is _ locked. It’s not particularly secure; if Izaya held even a portion of Shizuo’s monstrous strength he could simply shatter the thin wood frame of the door containing it. Even with no more power than that offered by appropriate tools, it would be a matter of minutes to cut past the deadbolt and let himself into the other’s home. But Izaya has neither tools nor monstrosity, and is happier for it, so in the absence of anything but human ingenuity he puts the focus of his mind to determining a better approach than a direct one. The door is locked, the frame sturdy enough to dissuade the only weapon Izaya has on him, the sharp edge of his usual knife; but a wind is rustling something at the side of the building, and when Izaya braces both hands on the railing and tips himself out to look he can see a curtain moving at a window, the motion of the fabric speaking clearly to the inch of an opening left cracked at the bottom of the windowsill. Izaya tilts himself far forward, bracing his toes at the support beneath him to keep from toppling out into open air; and then he smiles satisfaction, and rocks himself back to stand on both feet so he can spring up onto the edge of the railing and lean out into the space beyond.

The railing provides decent footing. It’s a handhold, even though Izaya as a rule doesn’t feel a particular need to secure himself against the possibilities of falls he simply refuses to let happen, but there’s a narrow ledge reaching beyond it too. It’s more than enough support for someone who can scale the supposedly sheer front of an office building as a means of escape, and the distance between the railing and the open edge of Shizuo’s window is trivial compared to some of the jumps Izaya has made in the middle of a heated pursuit. Izaya swings himself out into open air, catching himself with a casual hold on the railing as he considers the front of the apartment building containing Shizuo’s open bedroom window; and then he draws himself back, braces his foot against the edge of the second-floor support where he’s balanced, and kicks forward as he throws himself out into open air. The motion carries him forward, away from the railing and towards the side of the apartment complex, and Izaya reaches out to catch his fingers into the gap of the window left open by its unwary occupant.

Izaya lands quietly. He angled his jump to keep him close and avoid the louder crash that would come with a more direct impact; not that jolting Shizuo awake isn’t appealing in its own right, but that will lead to a rather different outcome for this evening than Izaya has in mind, and he’s pleased by the success of this first step in his plan. He tightens his hold at the windowsill, catches his toes against the lip of the trim that delineates the second story from the first in the building, and then he frees one hand to reach up so he can force the window open wider. It’s an awkward angle, and the frame is sticky with age enough that it protests his force as if it is locked in place; but finally Izaya shoves with enough strength for the glass to slide wider by a span of inches.

There’s a protesting whine from the wood, faint but clear in the quiet of the night, but Izaya doesn’t wait to see if he’s woken his monster. He’s pulling himself up at once, swinging up and sideways at once so he can slide himself into the gap left by the open window. There’s nothing directly beneath the sill, either the end of a futon or a stack of books to tumble over and announce Izaya’s presence, and he lands lightly on his toes inside, one hand still set at the edge of the windowsill and the other outstretched to balance his landing to perfect silence as he pauses just inside Shizuo’s bedroom.

It’s a simple space, without room for much other than the sleeping it is intended for. A bartender uniform is hanging on the wall, draped into careful folds when Shizuo presumably stripped it off upon his return this evening, and there’s a futon spread out against the far wall, only a step distant from where Izaya has made his elegant entrance. In the other corner is a sliding door that Izaya assumes leads to a limited closet; otherwise there is nothing else, either by way of decoration or furniture. It’s very simple, and very neat, and exactly as boring as Izaya would have expected. He considers his surroundings, just to orient himself in the space in the likely event he needs to make a hasty retreat, and then he pads silently forward towards the futon and the man asleep within it.

However tidy the rest of the room may be, Shizuo has made a mess of his bed. His sheets are tangled around him, kicked free from one leg and twisted up around his waist by the unconscious movements that followed him into sleep. Presently he’s on his side, his foot sprawling off the edge of the futon entirely and an arm angled up over his head past the pillow he has balled up under him; his eyes are shut, his whole body relaxed into the perfect calm of complete relaxation. The tension that Izaya always sees in his features is gone, swept aside by the peace of unconsciousness; in his sleep Shizuo looks years younger, as if he stripped away a decade of age along with his crisp uniform. Izaya can see the shape of the boy Shizuo was when they met in the soft of the other’s mouth and the easy angle of the arm draped heavy over his waist; as he stands there looking down at him he can feel himself transported back to the shadows of a falling sunset at the back of a school building, staring unseen as a young man did the impossible right before him. His shoulders tense, his fingers flex at his sides, and Izaya turns aside, leaving Shizuo asleep behind him while he ducks his head and sets his attention firmly to the task of slipping his shoes and coat free.

He makes quick work of his clothes. His jacket and shoes go down first but they’re quickly followed by the shirt he pulls over his head, and shortly after by the pants he slides off his hips and down his legs to join the rest. Shizuo stirs as Izaya undresses, but when Izaya glances back he’s only turned over in the tangle of his bedsheets, falling over to lie on his back and more thoroughly sprawl into the space around him. His head is turned away to face the wall, the arm braced at his waist has fallen to lie over his stomach atop the pushed-up hem of the t-shirt he’s wearing; he looks even more deeply asleep than he was, as if his motion has settled him further into whatever dreams he’s lost in. Izaya watches him as he steps out of his pants and kicks them to join the rest of his clothes at the corner of the room; then he looks down so he can slip free of his underwear along with everything else. He drops it atop the rest, pausing to give a cursory glance to the heap of clothes from which he has freed himself, before he lifts his head to shake his hair back from his face and turns back to step across the room on silent feet.

Shizuo doesn’t stir as Izaya lowers himself to kneel at the floor alongside the other’s futon. His eyes are shut, his body relaxed; Izaya doesn’t think he has ever seen Shizuo so peaceful, at least when Izaya is as close as he needs to be to actually see the other. There is a beauty to Shizuo’s features, like this, a handsomeness that is usually overrun by the explosion of temper that is so often roaring its way after Izaya like a tsunami; Izaya’s jaw sets, his throat tightening as he looks at Shizuo asleep before him, calm and content in his unawareness of Izaya’s presence. It’s like he’s seeing the possibility of what life could be without him in it, of how Shizuo’s days might play out were Izaya not constantly present to push back against all the weakest points of his resolve. The thought clenches itself around his chest, strong and choking as if Shizuo’s impossibly strong grip is tightening against the overloud pounding of Izaya’s heart in his chest, and Izaya grimaces sharply against the force and reaches out at once to shove the idea aside with the motion of his hand sliding beneath the weight of the sheets wound around Shizuo’s hips.

Shizuo shifts with the touch of Izaya’s fingers against him. His shirt is riding up around his waist, his boxers are low on his hips; the combination leaves an inch of skin bare at his navel, like an invitation for the slide of Izaya’s fingers to press in and across. Izaya watches Shizuo’s face rather than the motion of his own hand, content to let his sense of touch guide his action while vision serves to warn of the other’s waking, but when Shizuo turns against the pillow beneath him it’s only to tip his head in the other direction and breathe out a sigh that sags him into the greater comfort of a shifting dream. Izaya’s fingers find the elastic of Shizuo’s waistband, his touch presses down to slip beneath the pull of it, and Shizuo’s lips part on an exhale as Izaya’s hand slips down inside the barrier of his boxers. Izaya slides his touch downward, following the line of Shizuo’s hip between the other’s angled-open thighs, drawing his palm up to cradle the weight of the other’s balls in his hand for a moment before he frees them to continue up and wind his fingers to squeeze gentle pressure against the warm weight of Shizuo’s flaccid cock.

Izaya can feel the pulse of heat that answers his motion. Shizuo’s cock swells beneath his touch, responding to persuasion with ready desire as it grows harder and hotter beneath the friction of Izaya’s grip. Izaya flexes his wrist, working his hold into a slow, savoring stroke, and Shizuo turns his head closer against the pillow beneath him, breathing with strain enough to fall to the start of a groan as his cock rises to Izaya’s touch. Izaya’s fingers are tight on heat, his grip full, now, with the solid weight of the arousal that he has drawn from Shizuo’s unconscious, until Shizuo’s cock is as hard within the tangle of his boxers and the bedsheets as Izaya’s is standing out from his bare hips. Izaya glances away from Shizuo’s flushing face to look down, where the sheets are straining upward over the demand of Shizuo’s desire rising from them, and then he braces a hand at the floor alongside the futon and leans in close over Shizuo beneath him to murmur against the other’s ear.

“Happy birthday, Shizu-chan.”

There is no warning for the speed of Shizuo’s movement. One moment he is lying across his futon on his back, eyes closed and breath slow with the weight of sleep; the next there is a force shoving Izaya sideways, dragging him over the floor and flinging him across the room to slam down against the soft of the futon beneath him. Izaya lands heavily, too startled by the sudden action to even attempt to cushion his bruising fall, and Shizuo looms over him, his body caging Izaya’s beneath it as a hand comes down to grip around Izaya’s throat.

“ _You_ ,” he growls, all the usual rumble of his voice dimmed dark and dangerous by the weight of sleep still lingering in his throat. “What are  _ you _ doing here, Izaya.”

Izaya struggles against the futon, twisting to turn himself to greater elegance against the sheets instead of the slack collapse to which Shizuo’s first blow bore him. Shizuo’s fingers flex a threat against his throat but Izaya just turns sideways so he can fall onto his back and lift his gaze up to the dark figure leaning over him. He tips his head to the side and curves his lips to a smile that allows no recognition whatsoever of the palm presently crushing against his windpipe.

“That’s a silly question,” he says. Shizuo’s hand is pressing so tightly to his neck that Izaya can feel the words work themselves free from beneath the grip of the other’s fingers. He lifts a hand from his side, which makes Shizuo hiss and jerk his head to look down, but Izaya keeps his palm open and upraised to demonstrate the lack of threat as he reaches up to cradle the weight of Shizuo’s stiff cock within the fit of his fingers. “I thought I was being obvious enough for even  _ you _ to get the point, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo glances back up to glare in answer to Izaya’s smile but his gaze doesn’t linger. He barely makes contact before his attention drops down again, sliding over the weight of his hand pinning Izaya to the futon and over the length of the other’s body laid to bare skin beneath him. His breath gusts past his lips as he sees Izaya’s cock jutting up from his hips; with his palm pressing against Shizuo’s shaft through his underwear, Izaya can feel the pulse of heat that throbs through the other’s length in answer. “You broke into my home for  _ sex_?”

“I knew you’d get it,” Izaya says. “Though some parts of you were faster than others” with a flex of his fingers to squeeze against Shizuo’s length through his boxers. Shizuo’s hips jerk forward, he hisses a growl in the back of his throat, and Izaya’s smile tugs sharply at the corners of his mouth as he lifts his chin to angle his gaze through his lashes at Shizuo over him. “I’m all yours for the taking, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo’s attention comes back up from Izaya’s cock to meet the edge of the smile the other has bared at him. He’s hot against Izaya’s grip, his cock showing no signs at all of easing back from the arousal to which it has been coaxed, but his forehead is still creased, and his mouth is holding as tightly to a frown as his fingers are to Izaya’s throat. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Yes,” Izaya says easily. “Just past midnight, in fact. I wanted to be timely about my present before you got distracted by your certainly  _ fascinating _ birthday plans. Start your day off right, and all that.” He pauses to see if this teasing strikes any sparks, but Shizuo just goes on scowling at him without any signs of giving up his irritation for the desire weighting heavy at Izaya’s palm. Izaya slides his hand down Shizuo’s shaft, raising his eyebrows as he watches Shizuo for a response; and then he lets his hand drop at once and heaves a dramatic sigh as he rolls his eyes.

“It’s fine if you don’t want it, though,” he says, and reaches to grip at Shizuo’s wrist where the other is pinning him down to the futon. “I’ll just leave the way I came and find someone else willing to fuck an orgasm into me.”

Shizuo’s expression tightens instantly, responding as quickly to Izaya’s words as he roused to the sound of the other’s voice. His fingers flex, clenching against Izaya’s throat so for a moment Izaya is crushed to voiceless silence and he is left with lips parted around speech he lacks the breath for; and then he’s moving, lifting Izaya off the futon by his throat and shoving him over the rumpled sheets beneath him so he lands face-down against the mattress. Izaya coughs as Shizuo frees his grip on his throat, gasping for air from the sheets, and Shizuo’s hold closes at the back of his neck instead, thumb shoving in hard to pin Izaya face-down against the futon.

“ _No_ ,” he growls, and Izaya can feel the sound of that one word drag shuddering roughness all down the length of his spine to pool in his stomach and tighten in his balls. “You’re not going to someone else.”

“How will you stop me, Shizu-chan?” Izaya suggests. “Are you going to hold me down against the bed for the rest of the night? You won’t be getting much sleep yourself that way.” He shifts his hips against the futon, bracing his knees at the sheets and flexing his thighs so he can angle his body up slightly and arch his back to make a clear suggestion of his bare ass. “Or are you volunteering to satisfy me yourself?”

He twists his head against the pillows, struggling against Shizuo’s grip on the back of his neck to get enough space that he can look through the fall of his hair to Shizuo behind him. Shizuo is kneeling over him, holding Izaya fixed to the bed with the casual weight of one hand while he frowns hard down at the other. He doesn’t see Izaya looking back at him; his attention is sliding along Izaya’s body, trailing his shoulders and over his spine, taking in the length of his bare legs and up to the overt offering he’s making of himself. Izaya can see Shizuo’s focus linger there, his forehead creasing and mouth tightening as his tented boxers shift with the jump of his cock twitching with heat; and he can see Shizuo’s frown collapse into a grimace of surrender in the moment before he rocks back over his knees and reaches to hook a thumb inside his boxers so he can shove them off his hips.

“Preparation,” Izaya reminds him, as Shizuo gets his boxers off his hips to free the full length of his heat-heavy cock for the grip of his hand closing around himself. “I’m ready to take you but not  _ that _ ready.”

Shizuo growls and lets his hold go both from the back of Izaya’s neck and his own length so he can lean sideways and brace a hand at the floor for greater reach. “You didn’t prep yourself before you started groping me in my sleep?”

“I thought you’d prefer to do the honors.” Izaya gets a hand under himself and pushes up from the futon so he’s on his hands and knees. He tosses his head to flip his hair back from his face and turns to smile back over his shoulder as Shizuo straightens from retrieving the bottle tucked under the edge of his unrolled futon. “And I didn’t want to bother opening myself up if you were just going to send me to someone else’s bed.”

Shizuo hisses as he pours liquid from the bottle over one of his hands, spilling slick over his fingers and pooling in the cup of his palm. “Shut up,” he says, and punctuates with snapping the lid shut before dropping the bottle to the floor next to them. His hand closes at Izaya’s hip, fingers spread wide to brace to deliberate force as he tugs to pull the other’s balance angling back towards him. “I told you, you’re not going anywhere else.”

“Promises, promises,” Izaya purrs, and then Shizuo’s slick fingers push to slide over his skin and he turns his head forward, as if he just happened to be more interested in facing forward now and not at all as the retreat behind the curtain of his hair he knows it to be. Shizuo rubs over him, smearing the wet of the lube against Izaya’s rim with careless speed, and while Izaya is still gazing down and curling his fingers into an unobtrusive grip against the sheets beneath him Shizuo pulls his hand back before pushing forward to sink the length of his finger into Izaya at once.

Izaya had intended to stay quiet, to press his lips together and perhaps shut his eyes and hold back the involuntary response that he knew would follow the first sensation of Shizuo entering him. What happens instead is that Shizuo’s finger penetrates him, sliding slick pressure to drive inside him, and Izaya’s hands tighten at the sheets, his cock twitches towards his belly, and his throat tightens over a moan that breaks open towards a whimper around the lingering print of Shizuo’s fingers on his throat. Behind him Shizuo growls a sound a little bit satisfaction and entirely desire, and when he pulls back it’s only to turn his hand and thrust back in once more, pushing hard so he sinks the whole of his finger within Izaya at a single motion.

“You break into my  _ home_,” he says, sliding his hand back and thrusting back forward in a stroking rhythm that Izaya can feel pulsing heat within him like it’s falling into sync with the beat of his heart in his chest. “You come into my bedroom, strip naked, and jerk me off until I wake up, and then you talk about going somewhere  _ else_?” He pushes his hand all the way forward at once, working as deep inside Izaya as he can reach. Izaya can’t help himself from tightening around Shizuo’s touch, his body clenching gratitude against the other’s finger for the pressure he’s offering to satisfy the ache of desire deep down within him. “The only person fucking you tonight will be  _ me_.”

“Ooh,” Izaya breathes, letting the groan in his chest skip high so the sound of irrepressible want at his lips comes out sounding like teasing instead of sincerity. “You’re so  _ forceful_, Shizu-chan, you know how  _ hot _ that gets me.”

Shizuo shoves into him. “I don’t care,” he says, short and sharp, and pulls his touch back to leave Izaya empty and aching for a moment as Shizuo fumbles against his entrance. “I’m just finishing what you started.” He pushes forward, the pressure of two joined fingers demanding entrance, and Izaya’s lips part on a voiceless groan as Shizuo strokes forward to stretch him open. “I’m going to get myself off, and you can do what you want from there.”

Izaya would laugh at this, would tilt his head and flutter his lashes into overt teasing by way of reply; but Shizuo is moving too fast, his hand pumping hard to fuck Izaya open around his fingers, and Izaya doesn’t trust his throat to give up anything but a moan that will sound as heat-helpess as he feels. His cock is taut at his hips, bobbing towards his stomach with each forward thrust of Shizuo’s fingers filling him, and if Shizuo were paying more attention Izaya feels sure the rhythmic heat of his body flexing around the other’s touch would be an obvious tell for the arousal heightening to desperation in him. But Shizuo just keeps moving, one hand bracing Izaya’s hip still as his other works firmly inside the other, and Izaya is left to gaze unseeing at his fingers clutching at the sheets as his awareness of the moment spills through his hold to lull him into the dazed, heatstruck space of Shizuo’s touch withdrawing and thrusting within him to coax his body to heat enough to flush his cheeks and part his lips on the panting force of his breathing.

The loss is shocking when it comes. Izaya had fallen into the distraction of Shizuo’s motion, his body tensing and easing at the rate demanded by the grip on his hip and the fingers within him; his balance has shifted back, his body leaning into the support of Shizuo’s hold to offer himself for the other’s taking as the fingers press over and over inside him. Every pull back is followed by a thrust forward, withdrawal answered by fullness; when Shizuo’s hand pulls away Izaya doesn’t realize what’s happening until he feels Shizuo’s fingers slip free from his body. He catches a breath, forced back into stunned awareness of the moment by the sudden aching sensation of loss, and he turns his head, his forehead creasing and his lips parting on complaint as he looks back to Shizuo behind him.

All thought of protest fails him as he sees what the other is doing. Shizuo is still behind him, rocked back onto the support of his knees and halfway towards sitting at his heels, but there is no relaxation in the length of his body, no surrender in the flex of his thighs. His boxers are pushed to his knees, the waistband pulled wide by his position and the flex of his thighs left bare all the way up to the full length of his cock standing out starkly from the thatch of dark hair curling around the base of his shaft. He has his slick hand around himself to stroke easy friction up over his length, and Izaya feels his balls knot tight with the sharp ache of desire that answers the sight of Shizuo’s glistening cock poised behind his own braced-up hips. He stares for a moment, tracking the movement of Shizuo’s palm stroking over himself, before Shizuo lowers his hand to fix tight at the base of his shaft. Izaya watches Shizuo comes back up onto his knees, holding his cock steady as he lines himself up with Izaya’s entrance, and then the blunt head of Shizuo’s cock presses against him and Izaya lets his head drop forward under its own weight, his vision disregarded as all of his attention tightens around the heat of Shizuo’s arousal demanding entrance to his body. The force presses against him, Shizuo grunts a low sound of effort; and then he thrusts forward, Izaya’s body opens up around the width of his cockhead, and whatever sound Shizuo might make is entirely obscured by the moan in Izaya’s throat as Shizuo’s cock sinks into his body.

Shizuo thrusts far into him on his first stroke. There is force behind the motion, the strength of his body heightening the impulse of instinct and the effect of the irritation Izaya has been needling him into, until the first force of Shizuo coming into him feels to Izaya like being taken outright, as if it is the full length of the other’s cock demanding the absolute, entire surrender of his body. Izaya’s mouth is open, his eyes wide and staring with the sightless heat that surged through him with the first force of Shizuo entering him; and Shizuo is already pulling back, his hands locking Izaya’s hips still against the friction of his cock sliding out of the other. Izaya’s chest works on a moan that goes unvoiced by his lack of air for any sound at all, he blinks hard into the momentary space left by Shizuo retreating from him, and then Shizuo comes forward again, this time with strength enough to bury the full length of his cock into Izaya. Izaya’s head tips back, his throat flexes on soundless sensation, and as Shizuo’s thumbs dig in over his hips to hold him still for the other’s use Izaya is left to quake through the deep, helpless tremors that Shizuo’s movement resonates through his body.

Izaya loves this. He will never speak the words aloud, wouldn’t even let himself think them to clarity at any other time, in any other situation. But it’s impossible to avoid the truth like this, with Shizuo fucking into him with all the raw strength that makes teasing him such a deadly thrill. Shizuo is a demand, a power so inexorable he simply overrides the greatest of Izaya’s defenses, and with the force of Shizuo’s desire moving within him Izaya has no option, no recourse but to feel his own surging higher with every thrust Shizuo takes. His hands are fists on the sheets, fixed so tight they are pulling the covers right off the soft of the mattress; his legs are trembling, quivering with such pleasure that he’s sure he wouldn’t even be upright were Shizuo’s hands not holding his hips tilted up to take the demanding rhythm of Shizuo’s cock moving into him. Izaya’s lashes are fluttering, his vision hazy, his breath clenching with the same reflexive strain that is tightening him around the movement of Shizuo taking him. Maybe Shizuo notices, maybe he simply is focused on the panting heat of his own desire; all Izaya knows is that he is continuing, his motion certain and unflinching even as Izaya’s own body is stoked hotter, as his existence tightens towards the inevitable release of the orgasm Shizuo is driving into him with each forward thrust. All he has to do is wait, is cling to the sheets and let Shizuo take him until the unfettered strength of the other’s desire overwhelms his own and breaks him over the peak of ecstacy; and then Shizuo growls a rough sound, and pulls back sharply to retrieve his cock from the grip of Izaya’s body.

Izaya is left shuddering around nothing, reaching for an impossible resistance suddenly, shockingly gone from within him. For a moment he just stares, eyes wide with a surge of loss so keen it leaves him as breathless as the heat did; and then he drags air into his lungs and twists to glare back over his shoulder. “What the  _ fuck_, Shizu-ch--” and he’s falling, so abruptly it takes him a moment to recognize that he’s been pushed, that one of the hands bracing his hips has freed him and the other is shoving hard to knock him right off the balance of his own knees. Izaya falls hard, without the time to so much as consider retrieving his mental focus from the heat-haze to which it has been melted, and before he has even finished gusting free the wind knocked out of him Shizuo is over him, leaning forward to brace himself against the inside of one of Izaya’s thighs and pin the other leg up between his chest and Izaya’s.

“Like this,” he says, and Izaya has never heard Shizuo’s voice sound like that, dark and rough and as hot as the air gone humid with desire around them. His head ducks down, his hand grips at Izaya’s hip, and Izaya is tipped up off the futon, Shizuo lifting his weight one-handed with no apparent recognition of this feat or any difficulty in managing it. He’s reaching for his cock with the other, returning his grip to the base so he can steady the rigid heat of it out away from his body and guide himself back down against Izaya’s entrance. There’s a moment of friction, a promise of satisfaction as Shizuo’s cockhead finds the slick of Izaya’s entrance; and then Shizuo bucks forward, groaning relief as he returns himself to the grip of the other’s body, and Izaya arches against the futon, his toes curling and breath spending to a helpless moan as Shizuo’s cock fills him again.

Shizuo growls. “Fuck,” he says. “Just like that.” Izaya would ask what he’s talking about, or make some sharp-edged comment on his apparent inability to manage basic coherency of communication; but Shizuo is moving over him to resume the sharp, thrusting rhythm right where he left it off, and Izaya can’t spare the breath to speak when he’s so caught in the upward arch of his body curving towards Shizuo’s on the flexing strength of the arousal that Shizuo is urging into him with each forward thrust of his hips. Shizuo leans in over him, bracing an elbow at the futon and reaching to catch Izaya’s shoulder in the grip of his hand, and as he moves to bring them together Izaya feels himself borne away on the force of Shizuo’s action, his body responding with instinctive grace to the demand of Shizuo’s over and within him. His leg is still pinned between them, pressed back against his chest by Shizuo’s sudden act to turn him onto his back, but Izaya can’t think clearly enough to move to a more comfortable position, or even to tilt his leg wide to let Shizuo fit himself into the space of Izaya’s spread-open thighs. He’s gasping, panting for air against the tidal force of Shizuo’s cock pumping into him, so breathlessly dizzy with the pleasure fixing his arousal to a knot of inevitability that he doesn’t even realize Shizuo is watching him until he hears the huff of an exhale on the other’s lips.

“It’s better like this,” Shizuo says. His voice is rough, strained around the effort that must be flexing through his body to sustain the demanding rhythm he’s working into Izaya as he brings them together, but he’s still far more coherent than Izaya can even imagine, when he’s struggling even to hold the meaning of Shizuo’s words clear in his head. “It feels so--” His hand frees Izaya’s shoulder and pushes up to cradle the back of the other’s neck. Izaya’s head lifts in answer, raised from the slack weight to which it has fallen against the pillows beneath him; he blinks hard, fighting himself back to some fragment of clarity for his vision, if nothing else. Shizuo is leaning in over him, his shoulders tilted forward to frame Izaya beneath the shape of his body, and he’s still moving with the same insistent instinct towards the culmination of his own pleasure via the use of Izaya’s, but his gaze is startlingly clear, when Izaya finds his way to the force of the other’s eyes on him, and Izaya feels his chest tighten with a deep-down, innate sense of danger just for that penetrating focus.

Shizuo shakes his head. “It’s so different,” he says. “When I can watch your face…” He breaks off, his forehead creasing and his mouth tightening towards a frown, and Izaya feels himself flush with instant self-consciousness as he becomes abruptly and unavoidably aware of the soft of his mouth, and the weight of his lashes, and the dizzy arousal radiant through every part of his body. He catches a breath and closes his mouth hard, trying desperately to retreat behind the smirk that he usually keeps safely in place over whatever he might actually be feeling; and Shizuo’s thighs crest him forward, his cock pumps deep into Izaya’s body, and Izaya’s attempt cracks and crumbles as his shoulders strain and his head tilts back into the hold of Shizuo’s hand to pour a moan from the curve of his throat.

“God,” Shizuo groans. “Izaya-kun.” There’s a roughness on his voice, the familiar rasp of his tone raking over the syllables, but when his hand tightens it’s to hold Izaya still instead of offering the violence of a fist, and what damage he does with the forward buck of his hips threatens Izaya’s composure more than his physical safety. Izaya jerks beneath Shizuo, his voice melting to a whimper as the other moves into him, and Shizuo gusts a breath and lifts his other hand from Izaya’s hip to flatten to his stomach instead.

“I like this,” Shizuo says, grating the confession of the words past gritted teeth. Izaya casts his gaze down, his heart racing on adrenaline formed from panic and anticipation at once as he feels Shizuo’s palm dragging down his abdomen. His cock jumps, jolting with the heat of want that spikes through him, and then Shizuo’s hand is closing around him and Izaya’s head is going back as his hands clutch to fists at the sheets and he moans helpless surrender. Shizuo breathes out hard, so close to Izaya’s tilted-back head that the Izaya can feel the heat against his neck. “Having you under me like this--” Shizuo jerks his head to a sharp shake. His hand pulls slick over Izaya’s cock. Izaya can feel gravity veer underneath him, the world threatening to shake him off into a toppling fall of endless, absolute heat. “Watching your face while I’m inside you.” His hips come forward. Izaya tightens every part of his body, seizing hard at the resistance of the sheets and the wall of Shizuo over him and the heat of resistance working into him, and he manages to push his orgasm off by another breath, to cling to the edge for another moment longer.

“You look so--” and Shizuo breaks himself off again, shaking his head and grimacing. “Fuck, Izaya.” His hand shifts against the back of Izaya’s neck, his fingers push up into the other’s hair. His thumb slides down to brace firm just behind Izaya’s ear. Izaya blinks hard, struggling for clarity, struggling for composure, and finds a moment of sight for himself again. Shizuo is leaning over him, the whole length of his deceptively slim frame pressing Izaya down atop his futon. He has a hand at the back of Izaya’s neck, and a grip stroking smooth over Izaya’s aching cock, and his length working rhythmic force within the give of Izaya’s body, but his gaze is steady, clear even in the darkness of the room. He’s staring down at Izaya’s face, his mouth set and eyes focused on the other’s, and Izaya feels a shudder run through him, a quiver of bone-deep terror and impossible arousal tangled into the same moment. Shizuo is staring at him, watching him,  _ seeing _ him; and there is nothing Izaya can do to restrain himself, to fight back the giveaway pleasure is making of his parted lips and darkened gaze. Shizuo could have a knife at his throat, could be pressing a gun to his temple, and Izaya would feel less vulnerable; and there is no defense, nothing he can do to retreat to safer ground than that crumbling away beneath his feet as he stares up at Shizuo over him.

“Izaya,” Shizuo says. “I want to see you come.” His hand shifts around Izaya’s cock, his wrist flexes to stroke up along the other’s length. “Show me.”

Izaya can’t answer. His voice is gone, a victim to the battle he’s waging with the heat trying to melt his expression to flushed desire, with the hands he has fisting at the sheets so they won’t clutch the tension of desperation into Shizuo’s hair. For a moment he thinks of resisting, of standing his ground against the inevitable destruction of the pleasure rushing towards him; and then Shizuo’s hips snap forward, and Izaya’s body spasms around the strain of Shizuo’s cock filling him. His eyes go wide, his mouth falls open, and he arches himself back into the hold of Shizuo’s hand at his head, his throat giving way to a moan of the surrender that surges pleasure sparking through all the strength of his body. His legs tremble, his shoulders quiver, and as his cock spills his orgasm out over Shizuo’s grip Izaya hears himself sobbing heat into the shadows of Shizuo’s bedroom, overcome by sensation so intense it seems to tear through him like some outside force more than a self-created pleasure. Over him Shizuo groans, his fingers seizing hard enough to spark pain at the back of Izaya’s head, and when he thrusts forward in pursuit of his own release Izaya jolts with the rush of it, knocked out of any fragment of self-control by the force of Shizuo’s desire working upon the tremors of his own pleasure. His hand comes up of its own accord, his fingers strain against Shizuo’s chest in their effort to find traction, and as Shizuo keeps moving over him Izaya’s vision washes out entirely, swept away from him by the inhuman heat Shizuo’s body demands of his own. Izaya shudders at the futon, his head fallen back into the hold of Shizuo’s hand and his body quaking with involuntary, electric spasms of heat, until Shizuo gasps a breaking note in his throat and crests forward to sink himself within Izaya as his own orgasm ripples through the length of his body. Izaya feels Shizuo’s wrist flex beneath his head, feels Shizuo’s thighs strain over him, feels Shizuo’s cock pulsing the relief of orgasm within him, and he shuts his eyes and shudders an exhale he can feel in the deepest marrow of his bones.

Izaya knows how these things end. However intense the sex, however mind-blowing the orgasm, eventually Shizuo comes back to himself enough to recall who he’s been fucking, and Izaya is always ready to offer a smile with enough edge to merit Shizuo shoving him away before he rises to spend the storm of his frustration in the comfort of a shower. But Izaya’s self-awareness has been scattered from his hold, shoved away when Shizuo pinned him to the futon and leaned in to fix him with the dark intent of his gaze, and even the impending necessity of resuming his composure can’t return strength to a body so thoroughly spent of its will. Izaya blinks hard, trying to return clarity to his vision and remember how to tighten his hand to make his hold at Shizuo’s shoulder a scratch instead of a caress, and then the hand at the back of his head shifts, and Shizuo takes a breath that pulls Izaya’s attention upwards before he’s ready.

“Izaya-kun,” Shizuo says. His voice is still dark, still rough as a blow; Izaya jerks to look upward, instinct finally responding to the threat to his existence that that tone has always carried before. But Shizuo’s hold on him is still steady instead of crushing, his body is still framing Izaya’s instead of trapping the other, and when Izaya looks up he finds consideration instead of fury waiting for him in Shizuo’s face. The shock of it is enough to fracture the smile he’s struggling for, to melt his smirk into soft surprise instead, and Shizuo’s gaze flickers across his face like he’s reading a novel that Izaya didn’t mean to pen. Izaya’s throat tightens with panic, his chest flexes on an explanation, an excuse, a distraction; and Shizuo leans down over him, and presses his lips to Izaya’s own.

It shouldn’t carry the weight it does. Izaya stripped himself naked and climbed into Shizuo’s bed with him; Shizuo has been fucking him out of sanity for the last half-hour, has demanded the intimacy of Izaya coming beneath him and given up his own release to the other’s keeping in turn. The weight of a kiss should be nothing, and less so for how simple it is: just a chaste press of lips to lips, Shizuo’s mouth meeting Izaya’s with careful ease. But Izaya stares wide-eyed past the shadow of Shizuo leaning over him, and feels his heart pounding in his chest, and when Shizuo draws away his mouth burns with the print of the other’s lips on his own.

Shizuo ducks his head and leans his weight back to slide himself free of Izaya’s body. Izaya is too startled to close his mouth over the whimper that follows the easing within him and the ache of loss that chases hard on relief’s heels. Shizuo doesn’t look back to him; he just loosens his fingers at the back of Izaya’s head and slides his hand away to push through his own hair as he rocks back over his heels.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he says, and pushes to get to his feet. He pulls his boxers back up over his hips, returning himself to some basic decency before he turns towards the bedroom door. He lifts a hand into what might be a wave, though he doesn’t look back. “See you later, Izaya-kun.” And he’s stepping out into the hall, leaving the bedroom door ajar and Izaya sprawling over the sweat-damp tangle of Shizuo’s sheets beneath him.

Izaya stares at the open door for a long minute. He thinks about the grip of Shizuo’s hand at the back of his head, and the focus of dark eyes on his heat-flushed face, and the surrender of pleasure breaking his orgasmic moan into a  _ Shizu-chan _ too clear to be ignored. His body aches, his mouth burns, and in his chest his heart clenches with fear and possibility too closely linked to be separated. Down the hallway there’s the sound of a fan turning on, and then of water splashing onto tile; and Izaya ducks his head, and braces an elbow against the futon under him, and pushes himself up with effort. He puts on most of his clothes sitting down, as the safest option; and finally he gets to his feet, carefully, to test the strength of his knees before he comes forward to the bedroom door. He looks down the hallway to the glow of light under the bathroom door, an invitation implicit against the dark of the night around him; and then he turns his back, and makes his way to the front door to turn the lock over and let himself slip out into the night.

He’s given enough of himself away to Shizuo for one night.


End file.
